This Kind Of Quiet Poem by Brian Rihlmann

This kind of quiet
is almost unacceptable,
after days of listening
to the static hissing
between the stations.

The garbled messages,
broken shards of old songs,
and the DJs arrogant voices
drifting through my ears,
cutting in and out,
hurling pointed darts of opinion
at my crumbling walls,
laughing and feeling
oh so important,
while I shout them down
or whisper repeatedly,
"That's not true."

Now the headphones are off.
The sounds of the world
are all I hear.
A dove coos,
a distant train whistle blows,
my feet shuffle
on the hardwood floor
as I pace, wondering
what to do with the day,
if there is no battle to fight.